


Thirteen Plus One

by WichitaRed



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 09:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19787656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WichitaRed/pseuds/WichitaRed
Summary: Hey, Kid, you recall me telling you about riding with Jim Plummer's gang and how he made off with $30,000?Well, Kid nodded yes, however that sure did not let the rest of us in on the story. . . .until now.





	Thirteen Plus One

Sweat no longer rolled down their backs, as their clothing was stuck to them; still, they kept on pushing through the tall grass that swished by their horse’s sides. 

Lifting his wet legs from his saddle skirts, Ollie shifted, grumbling, “Damnation, if’n only the wind would blow.”

“Just yesterday, you were complaining for the wind to stop.”

Ollie Johnston’s deep-set eyes narrowed, his head turning slowly like a rattler taking aim, and when he held the youngest member of their gang in his gaze, hissing, “Did I ask for mouth from you?”

With a cheeky grin, the young man answered, “just making conversation.”

“Told you earlier, ‘bout not hearin’ anymore from you.” He edged his horse closer, scowling hard at the younger man, “fall back, and ride with No, he don’t mind your yappin’ none.”

The cheeky smile slipped from sight as the dark-haired youth shot a look over his shoulder, “No smells worse than a mule driver after ten days on a route.”

“That is surely true,” Jim said softly and turning in his saddle, he raised his voice, “But, he also enjoys conversation. So, do as your told, it’s too damn hot to be prying Ollie off you.”

Exhaling softly, Hannibal Heyes reined in the sure-footed, dark bay gelding, he had chosen for this venture.

Mace Bartlett and Jack Stewart passed by, with Mace chuffing out a hoarse laugh, “you at it again?”

Heyes threw the lean man with a Colt strapped to his leg a defiant look.

Seeing his boldness, Blue Alvarez tipped his head back, baring his nearly toothless smile at Heyes, “goin’ be the death of you. You know that, don’t you?”

“Simply, don’t understand why?” Heyes responded, waving about at the vast stretch of land they were traversing to reach the Laramie Mountains. “Isn’t a soul for me to alert of our passing by talking.”

Blue shook his head, “someday you will understand, Niño, someday.”

Watching him and the others ride on, Heyes decided he was far enough from Ollie Johnston, and his hating a man for being alive disposition, to ride along with Liam North and William Cole. “Good dialogue helps pass the time, don’t you both agree?”

Liam pushed out a breath of air, casting a look Heyes’ way, and uncorking his canteen, he took a long drink. 

“Did I tell you about the all-night poker game, I was in back in—”

“Stop!” William held up a hand, one that he had refused to answer Heyes’ persistent questioning regarding its missing digit. “It’s too damn hot. Go ride with No like you been told.”

Heyes whole appearance took on that of a kicked dog, and he tugged on his reins. The bay halted, and switching his tail, he watched the remaining members of the Plummer Gang trail by, although Heyes pointedly looked the other way, acting as if he did not hear their snorts and cutting remarks.

“Ya in trouble again, Hannibal?”

“Seems to be all I know how to find,” Heyes answered, looking to the bear of a man with huge hands and a grizzled beard, and urging his horse into a walk, he crabbily muttered. “And, it’s Heyes, not Hannibal.”

Noah Blake responded with undiminished cheerfulness, “Nah, I like Hannibal. It just sorta rolls out of a person’s mouth in a friendly sort of way.” He nodded, retrieving a greasy, stained rag from the bib of his coveralls, “yep, I like Hannibal.” He opened the cloth, revealing a tobacco plug that he promptly took a bite out of and flopping the fabric back over, he began to rewrap the block. But, looking to his young friend, he stopped. “Ya want a bite?”

Heyes leaned away, releasing a yelped, “No!”

“Ya sure?” Noah asked, extending his arm toward Heyes. 

Heyes’ face pinched, and he shook his head, “I don’t want none.”

“It helps pass the time, is all.”

“How’s that?”

“Well…” Noah shoved the tobacco securely in his pocket, “…there is the chewin’ it down just right.” He, somehow, managed to get out around the chunk he was grinding with his molars. “Then there is the spittin’.” He turned, giving Heyes a better view of the brown juice escaping, to run into his beard. “Ya can get real good at spittin’.” He nodded, “and ya can pass the time a practicin’.”

“Thanks anyway, No, I will pass.”

The man spat at a flowering stalk of locoweed. “See how I nailed that one.”

The left corner of Heyes' mouth lifted, unveiling a deeply pitted dimple that gave him a casual, sarcastic air.

“So, what we be conversationalizing ‘bout this time?”

“Could tell you ‘bout my all-night poker gam—”

Noah spit between them with a shake of his head, “don’t like poker stories.”

“How ‘bout, Miss Stella Starr? She is this songbird, I saw in Denver, she had on this outfit that showed about all of—"

“Unequivocally, no,” Noah snorted, cutting Heyes off, yet again. “That would have me thinkin’ ‘bout women, and I don’t need to be thinkin’ ‘bout women, cause in case ya ain’t noticed, there ain’t none ‘bout. What else?”

Looking down, Heyes drug his teeth across his lower lip, and like a prairie dog his head popped up, wearing a lopsided grin, he excitedly, said, “I know, how I became the champion tracker of all Utah.”

With a grunt, Noah stood in one stirrup, breaking wind like a trumpeter calling a charge. 

Swerving his horse further away, Heyes’ barked, “you mind?”

“Not at all, does a man good to let it all out.” Noah spat again, “and, ya done told me, ya, Utah tall-tale.”

“It is not a tall-tale.”

Laughter roared from Noah along with a spray of spittle, further polluting the air around the pair of them. “To each his own. But I done gave ya three tries, so I gets to do the talkin’, Boy.”

Rolling his eyes, Heyes slouched in his saddle as Noah began one of his long-winded stories. Hearing Noah’s deep voice, Jim Plummer glanced back, grinning darkly, ‘seems Heyes has his self more confabulation than even he can handle.’

Meanwhile, Heyes rode along listening and reconsidering all Jim Plummer had laid out about his plan. “…that so, No, you really said that to Hickock….” Heyes off-handily responded, pulling his feet from his stirrups, he rolled his ankles; and thought more on the plan while watching the sun begin its slow descent even as his gang mate continued to drone on. But, hearing a pause, he piped out “…why No, that would have been terrible….” and Noah, promptly, went on with his story. 

Rolling his eyes, hidden in the dark line beneath his hat brim, Heyes thought, ‘isn’t a wonder he calls my stories tall-tales when all he seems to dole out is farfetched whoppers.’ Turning from the sun, Heyes’ studied the lines of flattened grass, the Plummer Gang’s fourteen horses had created, and his brows furrowed. ‘Hmm, if I were leader, I would have had us ride no more than double file, better hiding our numbers.’

The wail of a train whistle grabbed Heyes’ attention, and in the dark evening shadow drifting across the mountains, he spotted the shining engine light of a freight train working its way about a downhill curve. ‘Wonder why they blew the whistle?’ And, having thought this, he called to Benny Montgomery, in front of him, “Why you figure they are blowing the whistle?”

Benny’s head tilted toward the mountain, and he snickered, “maybe they is lettin’ us know they is on time.”

Not too far ahead of the gang, long shadows were stretching toward them from the maze of corrals and loading pens, set a distance off from a small depot. 

Batting his eyes against the western glare, Heyes tried to block the sun with his open palm. ‘Don’t seem smart to have us riding in blind this way, can’t even make out if the pens are empty or not.’ The whistle peeled out, again, sounding like a woman screaming, and his gut gurgled like he had drunk warm beer too fast. Swallowing hard, he kicked his horse up, rushing past the others, to pull in alongside the Gang’s leader. “You think they know?”

“Know what?” Jim asked.

“Well…” Heyes half-smiled, “that we are fixing to rob them of their shipment.”

Jim peeked over at Heyes, “you start worrying about situations that have not yet occurred, and you will be pushing bad luck on all of us.”

Tipping his head to the side, Heyes' worried at his lip, and after a moment, he dryly said, “seems to me worrying about situations that have not occurred, is a way to prevent bad luck from ever happening.”

Jim stiffened, “are you instructing me how to run my gang?”

“Why no, Jim, I would not do that.”

“Then shut your mouth until I ask you to speak.”

Anger burned through Heyes, but since Jim Plummer was the leader, he fell back to ride alongside Gray Shipman, who only shook his head at him. “Blue is right, you need to learn, afore you get yourself killed.”

Heyes’ face flushed with blood, his jawline tightening until the muscles stood out beneath the taut skin. 

But the moment had not passed yet, because Ollie Johnston had once more turned his dark eyes on Heyes. “Tell me again, Jim. Why did you bring this one along?”

“He has done well enough on small jobs.”

Ollie replied, in a tone that was filled with the same coldness that filled him, “This ain’t no small job.”

Quietly, but firmly, Jim said, “without him, we would be thirteen.”

“You and your damn superstitions,” Ollied grumped, scanning the fences, looming up around them, as they passed along the alley separating the livestock corrals, allowing them to, discreetly, approach the backside of the depot. “Think you were raised by some voodoo queen.”

A warm chuckle rolled from Jim Plummer, “just an Irish grandmother.”

Behind the Depot the fourteen men stepped down from their horses, the sun was nearly behind the peaks, leaving them in an early darkness. 

Jim Plummer pointed at Benny, who from his worn-down boots to his battered hat looked the part of a dyed in the wool ranch hand.

With a sharp nod, Benny sauntered to the front of the building, returning in moments with a smile twice his size. “Ain’t anyone around, waiting to board the train.”

“Just as I told you, men.” Jim whispered, standing taller, “this stop is mainly used to load cattle, and some rancher here and again.”

There was a glowing adoration in the men’s faces as he said this, and he smiled back at them like he was coming down from Mount Sinai bearing the word of the Lord, just for them. “Time to get started. So, Benny, you, Mace, Jack, and Dave lead your horses to the hitch rail, and mosey right into the depot like it is a natural as swigging whiskey on a Saturday.”

Mace replied, “and, just as casual take them railroad men hostage.”

“No shooting,” Jim answered, “it is liable to ruin everything.”

The men nodded, snagging their mount’s reins, and walking off. 

All was quiet. The other's eyes slanted from one gang member to another. It felt too quiet, then Jack was hollering, “All clear, we got ‘em.” 

With the swagger of men who felt they were far above the law; the remaining members rounded the building. 

Pointing to a redhead wearing stained overalls, Jim said, “Going to have you escort a handful of my men to your replacement ties.”

The man rolled his shoulders back, his pug nose wrinkling, “Why in the hell would I do that?” 

“So, we can load them on the tracks into a right proper barricade,” Jim replied.

“Hell, you say.”

Unexpectedly, Ollie grabbed the man’s arm, swinging him about and planting a left hook in his face, “you want another?”

The man shook his head, leaning back from Ollie’s twisted grin.

“You sure?”

Several of the outlaws hooted laughter, including their leader, who patted the redhead on his back, like an old friend. “I would say he has a far more cooperative stance of things.”

Free of Ollie’s grip, the redhead felt of his jaw, eyeing the man who had hit him.

“Hey, and take this little ticket taker with you,” Jim said, shoving a man with sharply cut features in a flawless white shirt forward. “We have no use of him here.”

By the time the flaming light of the engine approached, the linemen were locked away snuggly in a tool shed, and Liam was positioned on the edge of the depot dock waving a red lantern. 

The engineer blasted an answering whistle. 

It was a long drawn out howl that bounced off the mountains and then the wheels where slipping, squealing along the iron track, the cars knocking in their couplers, softly bucking to a stop. The engine belched, and burbled, a slow, low hiss filling the depot as steam billowed forth like ground tied clouds. 

Noah having returned from moving ties, which had done little to improve his overall aroma, elbowed Heyes, “always do enjoy watchin’ a train come to a halt.” He closed his eyes, smiling, “that hiss… it’s like a summer wind blowing through a thousand aspen trees.” 

“Heyes you are with me,” Jim said, “rest of you know what to do.” Pulling their sidearms, the men ran to the cars, jumping on each from the engine back. 

Following Jim, Heyes opened his mouth to ask, ‘What do you want of me?’ Recalling Jim had not said he could speak yet, he snapped it shut. It made his gut burn, but, despite the chafing indignation, he still thought it might be better to wait his leader out.

When they came to a halt before the express car, Jim turned about, “Now, Heyes, now you can finally speak.”

Heyes brows furrowed low.

Jim chortled, “if you plan on remaining with my gang, you are going to have to start taking orders better.”

Heyes eyes slanted away from the man he had signed on to follow.

And, Jim laughed louder, “well, anyway, the time has arrived to use all that glib speech of yours.” 

The dark eyes slanted back to Jim Plummer. 

“It is your job to get that express man to open the door; explain why it would be best.”

With a half shake of his head, Heyes stepped closer to the car. “Hey, Mister? Mister?”

“I am not opening this door. I am not being robbed.”

“Sir, what’s your name?” Heyes asked cordially.

There was a moment of silence, then from the other side of the door came, “Names Charlie, and I am not being robbed.”

“Now, Charlie, way I figure it, you shouldn’t be thinking of it as you, not you Charlie being robbed, it isn’t even your money.”

“I was put in charge of it, and I am not being robbed.”

“As a railroad man, I can see to your way of thinking, Charlie. But this isn’t even the railroad’s money, it’s just a shipment.” 

Hearing a ruckus to his right, Heyes noticed Ollie dragging the engineer his way, and the man already looked considerably bloody. “Charlie, listen, the men out here, they don’t care about morals. Guess you already know that, since they all are part of an outlaw gang. Charlie, you need to open this door, cause there are more than a few of them who are considerably determined to have their way.”

“Does not matter, I am not opening this door.”

Jim clapped Heyes on the shoulder, “this here distinctly proves what I have been telling you, these past months, about the worthlessness of discussing a situation.”

Hannibal Heyes shot Jim a look that balanced between irritated and confused. 

“Truth is most people just do not care for the ins and outs of a conversation, and even then, they aren’t apt to be listening when they should.”

Just then Ollie slammed the Engineer’s back to the express car, right next to where Heyes was standing, while shoving the end of his Remington’s barrel against the man’s nostrils. 

Heyes inhaled sharp, a trickle of sweat rolling down his neck, as his heart started to pound. “Uhm, Charlie…. Charlie?!”

“We have nothing more to talk over. I said my piece; I am not opening this door.”

“I hate to put it this way, but if you don’t open this door the next thing, I’m going to be telling you is….” His eyes slanted to Ollie’s gun still crammed up the Engineer’s nose, “well…that this Engineer’s brains have been sprayed all over me and your express door.”

There was movement in the car, and the door shifted like Charlie had grabbed the handle, and in a shaky voice, he asked, “Everett…. you out there?”

“I am.” The engineer leaned more into the side of the railcar, “and, I would attest this man is telling you the truth.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, and I’m also sure I would like to make it home breathing to Minnie and the children.”

There came a clunking sound, and the door glided open, revealing a short, squat man with a shiny bald head who looked from one outlaw to the next, “you can lower that gun, I opened the door.”

“Yes, you did.” Jim said, “now, you will open the safe.”

“That I cannot do.”

“Open that safe damn quick!” Ollie bellowed, “Or, I am goin’ to blow the top right out of his head.”

“No! Don’t!! I cannot open the safe.”

Jim placed a foot on the floor of the express car, leaning his arms across his bent knee. “Do you know the combination?”

Charlie shook his head no.

“| am not sure you are fully listening, but…” Jim nodded his head toward Ollie, “…when he finishes him, I will allow him to start in on you. My big pal, there, has been described as a lot of things, but being easy-going isn’t one of them.”

“Everett, for heaven’s sake, tell him…” Charlie motioned back behind himself, “this is not even the railroad’s safe.”

Ollie pulled back the hammer on his pistol and in that moment Heyes screamed, “Stop!”

All attention shifted to him.

“Put your blamed gun down, I will open the safe.”

Ollie leaned back, the barrel slipping from beneath the engineer’s nose. “Jim?”

An oily smile crept across Jim Plummer’s face, “Yeah…” He nodded, “Hannibal Heyes here bragged of it, to me, during a night of drinks.” He winked at Heyes, “but, hasn’t ever brought it up again, even after we blew the hell out of that last safe.”

Inside Heyes something started to swell, and to keep from saying his mind, he clenched his jaw tight, causing his dimples to dig ravines in his cheeks. 

“Been holding out on us, ain’t you…” Jim poked him with the barrel of his pistol that had been dangling loosely in his hand. 

When Heyes turned to face Jim Plummer, his eyes had turned blacker than the deep shadows about them. “Just don’t kill no one, I can do it,” Heyes replied, and heaving out a sigh, he stepped into the express car. “Charlie, best light me a lamp.”

The expressman looked hopelessly about him, and then pulling a match tin from his pocket, he lit the lamp hanging on the wall. 

A soothing, golden light blanketed Heyes, as he cozied up to an old dented and abused Syracuse Safe. Leaning closer, he exhaled, the scratched metal surface was chilly against his cheek, as he listened to the unmistakable tick … tick … tick of the turning tumblers, then he heard one with a different firmer cadence, and he smiled. Pulling back, he peeked at the dial, ‘eighteen.’

“You making progress?” Jim asked.

Heyes glanced his way, there was indignation laced into the tone of the leader’s mild question that worried him. “Yes,” He replied, his face already settling against the metal. It was not so cold this time as he could feel the warmth he had left behind. However, the dial was still cool beneath his fingertips as it turned tick … tick … tick … tick … tick … A bead of sweat rolled down his temple … tick … tick … ‘there it is.’ He released the air he had been holding, allowing himself a grin as his eyes darted to the groove above the dial, indicating number twenty-two.

His slow movements agitated Ollie, ‘maybe we should just use the dynamite, Gray has some in his bags.’

Jim shook his head, “give him a bit more time, last time we burned up as much money as we took with us.” Pulling his pocket watch, Jim nodded, “trains only been stopped for ten minutes.”

Heyes ignored them, focusing intently on the Syracuse lady he was embracing, relishing in her purring ticks as the pair of them communicated, then he heard it. Taking a gulp, he wrapped his hand about the silver bar handle. There was the clank of the lock moving, and he rolled backward on his heels, pulling the safe door open with him. 

Charlie gasped, “By God, you did it.” 

Heyes smiled brilliantly, over at the man, his eyes sparkling like stars, “I did, didn’t I.”

The next few minutes were a flurry of action, grabbing the money, threatening all who were not part of Plummer’s gang, and then leaping on their horses to race from the scene of their crime. Through it all, Hannibal Heyes felt like he was moving in water, his mind so enraptured with what he had just accomplished that he did not come back to himself, until much later when they pulled up to rest their horses. 

“There is not a town for more than sixty miles in any direction,” Jim said, loosening the girth strap on his saddle with a laugh. “Also means there isn’t any law for more than sixty miles. Step on down men, we got plenty of time to take a rest.”

Both horses and men were dripping with sweat, but still, Heyes eyed their backtrail, ‘seems like we should keep moving.’

“Climb on down, Hannibal.”

His eyes traced to Noah standing beside his horse, and the corners of his mouth tugged, but he slung his leg over, hopping to the ground. 

The gang walked out their horses, watered them from a stream bubbling over a cascade of rocks, and were now sitting about a low banked campfire boastfully laughing about the heist. 

“That is a hell of a thing!” Liam chuckled, “Heyes really just opened the safe…” he snapped his fingers, “just like that.”

The talk had been going on like this for over an hour, and Heyes wanted to enjoy his praise, but there was an itch he could feel right down to his bones. Glancing to the fire, he had protested against, he stood, “Jim, we should be leaving.”

Jim Plummer stared wide-eyed at the boy standing above him, and took a drink from his flask, “sit down, Heyes.”

Heyes looked off the way they had come, the corners of his mouth tucking down, and he shook his head. “We should mount up.”

Jim turned an eye to Ollie and Asher, to the left of him, raising an eyebrow with a shake of his head. ‘Boys got skill and guts, got to admire that, but…’ He looked back, snapping, “sit the hell down before my sentiments for you all together change.”

There was a robust round of laughter, and Heyes walked over, taking a seat on a log next to Blue, “Niño, you still be new to this, but you gotta learn…” He pointed toward Jim Plummer, “you said you would follow him, means you don’t be challengin’ him every turn.”

“Blue, something here…” Heyes laid a hand on his chest, “doesn’t feel right.”

“Be alright, Niño.” Blue passed his fifth of whiskey to Heyes, “take a drink, you will feel better.”

Heyes eyed the bottle, then tipped it back, swallowing burning rushes of redeye. 

The night sounds about them grew louder as the nocturnal animals came out, and the men lounged, drifting in and out of sleep, enjoying the relief of night after the blistering heat that had baked their skins during the day. 

A gunshot split the night wide open, and the men were on their feet, William kicking dirt over the fire. 

Another shot sang out, and they ran for their horses. Like the others, Heyes was firing back into the night, but he didn’t necessarily want to hit anybody, he didn’t want a man’s life on his hands. So, as he ran, he fired his shots high into the trees, ‘we need to get the hell out of here before this becomes a bloodbath.’

“Get on your horses!” Jim yelled. His words unneeded as every member of his gang was already doing just that. 

They charged up the sloping mountain, the pale strips of moonlight lacing through the trees, illuminating them as they scrambled for escape. When Heyes peeked back under his arm, he could see the blazing fire of too many guns firing their way. ‘I would not have stopped like this if I were a leader.’ He briefly thought.

To his right, Blue’s horse screamed, throwing its head up, and the animal was crashing to the ground. Mace reined in catching his friend up, while others of the gang cried out as hot lead tore at them, burying deep into their flesh. 

Hearing the wiz of a bullet tearing past him, Heyes began slinging his long reins back and forth across the bay’s rump. ‘Thought the nearest law was miles away, according to Jim. Who are these people?’ Before he even finished this thought, a rifle ball drilled through his shoulder blade. A paralyzing fire ran across his body and right down his arm, and the scream he heard, Heyes realized was his own as he wobbled in the saddle. 

A hand clamped hold of his belt, righting him, “Come now, Hannibal, you fall off, and you won’t be getting up.”

He and Noah were racing together, the tree limbs slapping them in the face, rocks rolling and slipping from beneath their horse’s hooves. 

Jim Plummer’s gang rode fast and hard, splitting in all directions to escape the gunfire chasing them. As four of them crested a rise, Noah gasped, his arms flying wide and he tumbled from his horse like a bottle from a table. 

Spinning the bay, Heyes rode back, but by the spot of moonlight covering Noah, he could see the old man’s face was, mostly gone, from where the ball had exited his skull. “Oh, Christ sakes…” Heyes whimpered, blood dripping from his left hand, unsure what to do. Then a bullet took the horn clear off his saddle, and he slammed his heels down, again and again.

Miles away, he reined the heaving horse in. All was still, no gunfire, no sounds of pounding hooves, it was just him and the bay. Dragging in deep, ragged breaths, Heyes pulled off his bandana, tying a sling about his neck to hold his numb, left arm that had been flopping uselessly at his side. 

Stepping down, his head swam, and he struggled to stay conscious. The pain was harsh, but the loss of blood had him seeing double. After clinging to his saddle, for he did not know how long, he began leading the exhausted animal. 

He had been walking more than an hour when he spotted a doorless cabin, shoved up against a sheer rock face with trees all about it. Drawing his pistol, he leaned against the bay, awkwardly ejecting spent shells, and reloading. “Well, horse…” He closed the Colt’s loading gate, and throwing the reins across his good shoulder, said, “…let's see if we can both fit inside.”

His approach was step by heedful step, at the door, he took a breath before moving cautiously in. The room stunk of a big cat, but the odor was old and the cabin empty. His horse balked, “come on…” He holstered his pistol, pulling more firmly on the horse. 

Once inside, he loosened the animal's girth, “sorry boy, if I pull your saddle, I’m not so sure I could throw it back up.” After a contest of wills with a broken table, he managed to use it to block the door, and leaning against it, he sighed. ‘Bit more to do before I can rest.’

Stumbling across the room, with the gear from his saddle, he flung out his bedroll across a bare rope bed. When he sat down, the ropes sagged but held, and he unplugged his canteen, pouring a generous portion across his wound. 

At last, he lay down, curling up on his side, his eyes roamed across the wrecked, abandoned one-room cabin, but what he was seeing was Noah Blake. ‘One moment your listening to a pal's long-winded tales, next he is saving your life, and then lying dead to be forgotten in some mountain forest.’ He took a drink of water, his head and the wound competing for which was throbbing more. Closing his eyes, he exhaled slowly, ‘hope I wake in the morning.’ He frowned, ‘that safe held at least thirty thousand dollars, Jim had it on his horse. His leadership got the gang slaughtered, and me… lost and all alone.’ 

His pain and loneliness let his thoughts shift to his cousin, a subject he regularly kept tucked away. “Kid…” he whispered, the horse’s ears flicked, and Heyes’ sniffed hard. ‘If he had been with me, none of this would have happened.’ Tears leaked from his eyes, trickling down across the bridge of his nose, and he told himself it was the pain. However, deep inside, he knew it was his constant regret of having argued with his cousin. ‘Well, Kid, you told me I could do whatever the hell, I wanted, long as it wasn’t bossing you about no more. And, hellfire, I still do not know how I decided you were holding me back. But I am afraid…’ He sniffed again, ‘…this could be my last night…. and Jed…. I sure wish you were here.’ 

Somewhere outside a pair of owls hooted, their calls loud and warbling as they proclaimed their territory. The bay gelding shifted, taking the weight off one foot, and Hannibal Heyes drifted off into a deep sleep.

-FIN-


End file.
